


Unfettered

by lokiyan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 01:03:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokiyan/pseuds/lokiyan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war was over and it was time to tend to the wounded.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfettered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt: Arya holds Gendry down for Sansa because that's what sisters do. He doesn't complain one bit.  
> Bonus if Arya joins in.
> 
> Except it went darker than expected.

When Arya stormed King's Landing beside her half-brother, later found to be her cousin, it was she who happened upon the room of chains. All this time, for years even before the war, Arya had been resentful of her sister - her sweet, dutiful, beautiful sister - and the guilt choked her as she beheld their mother's hair on her sister's fair, Northern skin. Without ever looking away from her sister’s haunted blue eyes, she shouted for Gendry, who killed his way to rush to her side, fearsome as he was with his war hammer.

He had only taken one look at the girl on the floor in the room without windows before his entire demeanor changed before her eyes. Arya recognized him immediately, the Gendry who was different from the other boys headed for the Night's Watch, the Gendry who made the steel sing beneath his hands, flustered in the presence of ladies, and stood up for little girls from bullies. Arya was never one to share with her sister, who seemed to have everything, but when she saw the way Sansa twitched even at Gendry's impossibly gentle touch grazing over her bruises, Arya never felt more protective of anything or anyone else. And so she let her have him.

It had been Gendry's hammer that freed Sansa from her chains and Gendry's ruined shirt that bandaged the tender flesh beneath the shackles. It had been his arms that carried her behind the lines of fire while Arya slashed the throats of the red and gold cloaks beside Jon. Gendry stayed behind to hold the base, the bull standing strong over the weak and injured until the war was won. 

When the war was won and the dust settled, it all made sense to Arya. She had been resentful when he chose to stay behind and join the Brotherhood Without Banners rather than go forth with her, but the calm after the war helped put everything in perspective. Although they had shared a lifetime of experiences together, she and Gendry were essentially very different. Where she lusted for adventure and stayed in the front lines of battle, all Gendry wanted was a home, something he never had as a child. He preferred to dress and arm the men going into war over the battle lust that made Arya's blood sing. 

When Daenerys returned to Essos, realizing her true wish for only the house with the red door and the tree that bloomed outside her window, Jon sat the throne as he was always meant to, a just and beloved ruler and protector of the realm. For the first time in years, Westeros was ruled by a man, not a dragon or a stag, but by a man who understood the smallfolk and had traveled the length of the kingdoms to free them from chaos and tyranny. Rickon was set to rule in the North, with the ever faithful Greatjon overseeing the reconstruction of Winterfell. Arya herself was set to head up the Kingsroad to join them and settle the restlessness and lack of leadership at the Wall with the force of the Iron Throne behind her.

No one, however, knew what to do with the little red wolf who seemed terrified of her own shadow. 

It was difficult to hear the accounts of her sister's plight, from the beatings after their father's beheading to the escape only to fall into the hands of the lecherous Petyr Baelish. Arya left the throne room where a minor lord had been recounting the tale on her sister's behalf when he revealed that Gregor Clegane had managed to do the impossible and invade the Vale, from whence Sansa was dragged back to King's Landing and chained up like an animal. Even with all her strength, Arya could not stomach the rest of the details, but only knew that Jon's wrath was so great that the usually merciful king had Joffrey pulled and whipped through the streets before the execution and sent forces to decimate what was left of Clegane Keep.

During the trials, few saw a peek of the elusive Lady Sansa, who was once again a court favorite despite her absence, the receiver of favors and marriage proposals from high lords. In court, everyone spoke of the lady's humility and gentle nature and praised her desire to remain demure and quiet, but the truth was a murmured undercurrent of conversation. It had taken a moon's turn for her to get out of bed, and another to lay eyes on a man - her own kin, the king, no less - without screaming.

All the while, Gendry, the royal smith who remained a knight of Hollow Hill despite Jon's offering of Storm's End, stood guard at her door when he could, out of sight but always present. Arya wanted to kick him when he lost himself staring at the closed door and the girl behind it. He never looked at Arya like that and she never wanted him to. It was a look mixed with pity and longing. It was only then she knew he would never deem himself worthy to approach Sansa, and Sansa herself was in no condition to reach out to anyone else but Arya, to whom she had grown oddly attached. Without even a slight indication, something her sister was unable to give, Gendry would never approach the girl. Arya was the one who had first pushed him to the ground and straddled him the night before a battle, despite their easy laughs and lingering touches, and still he had reservations about touching a lady. It was impossibly frustrating that the two people she loved most in the world was exactly what the other needed, but the door between them created a distance wider than the sea.

Arya had taken to staying in Sansa's room, sharing her bed as they did as little girls. She would stroke her sister's long red hair and hold her head to her chest as Sansa used to do to her, lulling her to sleep with her heartbeat. Arya remembered that despite her protests at the time, she never felt safer or warmer than in her sister's soft embrace. However busy her day may be, Arya took the time to bring her sister her meals and wash her when needed. With what little softness she could muster, she dressed her sister's wounds and clipped her hair back in their mother's simple fashion. Sansa had become hers to keep, hers to look after, and hers to love. 

It was Arya, however, who could not be kept nor tamed, and she was not long for King's Landing. She was bound for the North, and then the Wall after that and perhaps back to the Free Cities to perfect her craft. She was no lady nor knight nor lord nor princess. She was only Arya Stark. Valar Morghulis, valar dohaeris.

The road, however, was no place for Sansa Stark. She could not be like Nymeria and follow her through whatever may come. She was too frail even for the journey to the North and for once, it was Sansa, not Arya, whom no one knew what to do with.

It was not until one day, when Arya was caught in an endless meeting with the Small Council at Jon's insistence, that she found what they all spent hours talking about. Irritated and impatient by her absence, Gendry finally found his courage to open the door he spent his days watching to carry a tray of food to Sansa Stark and, to everyone's surprise, she had not reacted poorly.

Arya ran down the hall when she noticed the door was ajar and two maids had been standing beside it, straining to observe the scene within. Arya wordlessly dismissed them and snuck in the shadows of the doorway like a cat as she watched. Although she was quiet and a table away, Sansa sat and calmly finished her soup and bread, the slope of her shoulders relaxed and her eyes calm. Gendry sat across from her, equally wordless, but drank in her every move, cautious of the small flinches and sometimes stilled her movements. It was riveting to Arya, and a part of her was slightly jealous - Sansa had been only hers for so long - but a wave of affection washed over her as she watched their quiet moment.

When the plates were empty, Gendry gingerly reached over to take it away and to Arya's shock (and Gendry's, by the look of his eyes), Sansa placed a small hand over his. "Thank you," she whispered with her voice soft and hoarse. Although her eyes wandered and she could not bring herself to meet his gaze, it was clear to both Gendry and Arya that she meant the words for more than just food. 

They were the first words Sansa had spoken since they found her, and because of them, Arya was willing to give up her afternoon meals with her sister. Jon had at first been jealous and puzzled all at once, complaining to Arya that Sansa once again preferred another man to her “half-brother,” her bastard brother, but Arya only rolled her eyes and laughed off his old insecurities. Both of them knew deep down what it meant for Gendry to break those chains.

“Tell me about him,” Sansa murmured into her bosom one night. And Arya did, as much as she knew about the boy orphan their father had found and the man he became. “I hear him outside the door sometimes. Pacing.”

“I can tell him to be quiet, if you want. He stomps around like a bull.”

Sansa shook her head. “It’s comforting,” she whispered. For the first time, Arya allowed herself to hope that her sister would be alright one day. 

But then she screamed. 

Arya always observed their time together from afar, waiting and when she heard the noise, she ran to her sister and enveloped her soft body in her hard, spindly arms. Gendry looked helpless, his brows knit and mouth spilling apologies. “I only meant to hold her when she began crying.” Arya only nodded, silently asking him to go and he did so dejectedly.

When Gendry refused to bring Sansa her meals the next day, Arya simply rolled her eyes and told him to stop acting a coward. “She doesn’t want me touching her,” he’d said.

“Who said anything about touching her?” He blushed, his feelings written plain on his face as he tried to find the words to counter her question. Arya’s face broke into a wry smile; it was just like older, darker times. “I know my sister. She will feel worse if she thinks she scared you away.”

“But-”

“Just give her time. Maybe she will actually let you touch her one day. Wouldn’t you like that?” And Gendry swatted a trowel like hand at her before she ducked away.

It would take three turns of the moon and days before Arya’s departure for both of their wishes to come to fruition. 

Although Arya had been sharing Gendry’s bed for quite some time, both knew they took a familiar and physical comfort in each other, little more. She loved him as family and he looked at her still as a responsibility, the stubborn little girl on the King’s Road with whom he could talk cocks and piss. Both knew, however, that Arya could never be his completely. Arya could never be anyone’s. And Gendry himself longed for the families he used to envy the other boys for - a strong father and a soft mother with brothers and sisters to tease. 

Sansa, Arya thought, was soft. And Gendry is as good a knight as any of the faceless creations of their childhood songs.

“Do you love him?” Arya asked one day as she brushed her sister’s hair.

“Arya!” Arya smiled. Sansa was beginning to sound like the sister she knew again. She certainly blushed as prettily as she used to. She always did everything prettily.

“Fine, fine. Do you want to fuck him, then?”

“ARYA!” Sansa swatted her sister’s hand away and turned to face her, scandalized.

“It’s quite good, I promise. I mean, _he’s_ quite good.” Her sister became as red as a rose. “This whole fucking business, I promise, he comes with recommendations.”

“Arya Stark. Your language-”

“My apologies. _Make love_ , I mean.” Arya was infected with the nostalgia of the fights they had as children and jumped on the bed, her arms gathering their sheets until it fit perfectly in her arms and Sansa only smiled. “Oh, Gendry, make love to me like the knights in my songs!” Arya said in an affected voice.

Sansa moved to sit beside her head and brushed the wisps of brown hair from her forehead the way she did when they were children. Her eyes, though, were watery and sad. “Oh Arya,” she whispered. “Life is not a song, sweetling.” And Arya sat up and embraced her sister through the night.

“Sometimes,” Arya heard her whisper into the darkness. “Sometimes I look at him and I see Father and my heart just feels... full.”

It must be done, she decided in that moment. It must be done before she was to leave for Winterfell.

The next night, Arya asked Gendry to meet her before the door, dressed in casual clothing without his armor. “Sansa needs you to do something for her,” she said.

“What is it?” He followed her into the room which, to his surprise, was empty.

“Don’t worry; this will be more than pleasant for you as well.” She gestured to the screen in the corner of the room behind which steam seemed to rise. At the realization that the room was not empty after all, Gendry’s throat seemed to close on its own. “Let’s get on with it then. Disrobe.” When he remained motionless, Arya sighed and jerked at the clothes and nearly tackled the boy onto the silk covered bed until he was only in his small clothes with the skin of his broad chest gold in the candlelight.

“Arya, stop-” She had him pinned to the bed and smashed her lips against his, biting and sucking to shut him up. “Sansa!” she called for her sister. “I’ve caught him!” 

Without even looking, Arya knew the exact moment when her sister stepped out from behind the screen. Gendry’s entire body stilled and his stormy eyes darkened in a way she recognized. In a light silk robe, her skin still dewy from the bath and strands of red hair escaping from the clip, her sister was a sight. Arya held out her hand to urge Sansa closer, their fingers clasping while Sansa’s other hand held her robe close at the neck. 

“Ser Gendry,” her sister spoke, soft as a song.

“Lady Sansa.”

“Oh seven hells,” Arya could only exclaim at their formality. She pulled Sansa onto the bed and brought her knees onto either side of his waist. Arya climbed to the head of the bed and held his hands against the mattress and looked to her sister, as she predicted that Gendry would not be much of a problem.

Sansa only sat there for a while with her bare legs on either side of him, first afraid to look, then afraid to touch. Although Arya and Gendry had been laughing with each other only moments before, both knew the gravity and significance of the situation, and both put their short tempers aside and pushed patience to the foreground. 

Finally, she brought a shaky hand to the bare skin of his abdomen and he inhaled a shaky breath. Her eyes widened at the effect. “Is-is this alright?” Arya wanted to laugh, but only brought a hand around Sansa’s wrist to press it down on him, teaching her just how alright it was. His breath grew ragged as she drew light patterns across his chest and arms and all he could do was nod his approval.

“That’s it. He’s all yours, completely in your power,” Arya coaxed. This, she decided, was what her sister needed. A bedding with a husband demanding to take his rights would have been the worst thing, but a man who was at her complete mercy as she knew Gendry would be was a step in the right direction. Arya wished for Sansa to feel safe in the presence of a man and in her own skin, just as she did before. Neither of them could ever go back to the way they were before, Arya knew, but perhaps this time, their shredded naiveté will help them survive.

Gingerly, Sansa slipped a finger beneath his waistband before slipping it out, then another, touching and testing. Poor Gendry, Arya thought as she looked at his eyes squeezed shut and the remarkable tension in his jaw. Arya herself was always hard and fast and he jested about the bruises she would leave him, but what Sansa was doing was another sweet sort of torture. “Be good,” Arya whispered in his ear before placing his hands beneath the pillow, where he understood and kept his hands as she crawled over to her sister. She kissed Sansa on the side of her neck and stepped behind her, her hands running down her arms to lead her and, together, they pulled the drawstring to Gendry’s small clothes and brought them down to reveal his hard and weeping cock.

Arya wrapped her arms around her sister in a tight embrace when she sensed her hesitance and again thought of her horrific captors. “Shh,” Arya whispered into her ear. “They’re all dead now. No one will ever hurt you again.” She felt Sansa’s bones begin to relax until finally, her head lulled back onto Arya’s shoulder. Slowly, Arya ran a hand down the opening of her robe and up again, slowly revealing the skin beneath until it slid off of her shoulders. 

Her sister was always a beauty, but time had made her a woman with soft curves befitting of a muse. From behind Sansa, Arya caught Gendry’s eye for a brief moment in warning - do not make any notice of her scars. They were faint and fading still, but certainly there. Little silvery white marks pepper her skin above her breasts and by her hips and three long angry marks ran their ways down her back. The first time Arya had seen them during a bath, she had to swallow a gasp. Sansa had always loved her skin, soft and perfectly unmarred, and now it bore the scars that must run deep into her heart.

Not for the first time, Arya hated Robb a little.

"You're beautiful," Arya murmured into her sister's ear. "Always have been, always will be." She ran her hands down the front of Sansa's body, Arya's front pressed to her back, and caressed her as gently as Arya could manage. She massaged the weight of her breasts and ran the back of fingers down the curve of the side before her fingers found the pert nipples that made Sansa close her eyes and gasp. 

Gendry, who had been as patient as he could and as quiet as he could, finally rasped out, "let down your hair." 

"Only if you want to," Arya added quickly. It was her choice. All of it, this was to give Sansa her own choices again. Slowly, Sansa reached behind her and pulled at the clip, a tumble of auburn waves fell around her shoulders to her waist. Emboldened by the freedom, Sansa finally met Gendry's gaze, stormy and dark, and Arya felt the exact moment Sansa once again realized her power over men. Arya slipped her hand down beneath the red curls covering Sansa to find her wet and tender. "You're ready for him whenever you wish."

Slowly, carefully, Sansa sank onto Gendry, who let out a strangled moan. The sound had frightened Sansa for a moment, but Arya ran her hands down her arms to calm her. When she had taken him in as far as she could, Sansa let out a shaky sigh. She had done it, and it felt good this time around, with the reins in her hands. So again, she let up and sank down and found Gendry oddly endearing in the way he bit his lip to maintain control. Not for the first time, Sansa felt her affection for this man took root in her heart and its vines grew around it. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on his lips. Sansa found his hands beneath the pillow and knotted her fingers through his and felt the warmth of his hands spread in a flush over her body.

Arya kept her hands on Sansa's hips to help her establish a rhythm that both enjoyed and left kisses along her shoulders, arms, back, and everywhere else she could reach. This was their farewell before she left for the North and it was in this bed that Arya left Sansa's protection to her most trusted friend and lover. As the rhythm quickened, Arya untangled their hands and placed Gendry's where hers had been on Sansa's waist and Sansa pressed her hands against his barrel chest. Arya watched the red hair dance with the sway before her and remembered her mother's passion. Their love and devotion shared by the parents, in the end, were truly what Sansa wanted, and Arya was glad to give it to her.

Sensing that Gendry could not hold out for much longer, Arya circled her finger just above Sansa's cunt until she felt Sansa shudder in pleasure, an unexpectedly deep groan on her lips. Gendry followed shortly after, having denied himself release since Sansa stepped out from behind the screen. It didn't matter to Arya that Gendry never held her, front to back, the way he did Sansa after their coupling. What mattered was the way Sansa wrapped her own arms around Arya's head and held her little sister to her again, just as she did when they were children.

Arya breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time, she felt the weight of her own chains fall from her wrists. She could disappear now, just as she was meant to. To the North and beyond, to the shadow lands and the faceless men, it mattered not. Tonight, they were limitless.


End file.
